


Illuminated

by AeeDee



Series: Illuminated [2]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Age Difference, Gender Dysphoria, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Sex, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:06:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeeDee/pseuds/AeeDee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel that takes place some years after <i>Shh, Just.</i>, but you don't need to read that to pick this one up.  The premise goes: Dick is FTM, and he's battling an inconvenient urge to start a family. </p><p>Timeline-wise, Dick is in his early 20s, following his significant falling out (and reconciliation) with Bruce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illuminated

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a sequel to this in the future, hence why I have this series set to "incomplete". This installment is a self-contained story.

“I have a daughter.” The nearby clatter of dishes, and a bell ringing above the far door almost drown his words out. Sunlight pouring in through the windows, as the day is rolling into the afternoon.

“Yeah,” Dick with his bright eyes and wide smile as he nods. “It’s crazy, isn’t it.”

“I still can’t believe it sometimes,” he’s leaning back, trailing his hands over his face with some stress. Roy's wearing the kind of grin that’s almost turning into a laugh. “It _is_ crazy. It’s totally crazy.”

Shuffling and noise, a trail of people walking by their table as the diner fills up. Their conversations floating by in spare words and uncertain meaning. Smiles and laughter, and for the moment, Dick and Roy fall silent.

The moment passes. They’ve moved on.

“I still regret it sometimes,” Roy is saying quietly. Heavy eyes while a thought flickers in them, a darkness he doesn’t want to linger on. “But she’s… special, you know. She’s something special.”

Dick is grinning back, “Yeah. She’s awesome.”

Roy laughs quietly.

“You’re really lucky,” Dick is reassuring.

“I mean, more than anything, I used to wish it didn’t happen-”

“But she’s worth it.”

Roy nods, “She’s worth everything.”

A pause.

“Even having to deal with her mother.”

Dick laughs.

-

He can’t stop shaking. Hands over his face, fingertips pressed above his eyes. It doesn’t help; it only makes him more aware. Aware of the pointlessness of his efforts. Aware of the stress he can’t bury, the hours of torture he just experienced, and a potential future of so much time—there’s still so much time left—all that time of having everything and nothing. A lifetime of failure. A loss that he could never conquer, not with any amount of strength or training or power.

Roy speaks about his daughter casually, calmly, happily. A miracle that fell into his life when he didn’t expect it, a small being that redefined his life and gave it meaning.

For some people, it was that easy. It would just happen. One accident and some months later, and that was the extent of their planning. That was the extent of their effort.

Dick never knows how to feel when Roy comments about Jade. She’s bad news. Everyone knows that. But Roy loved her. Roy _loves_ her, and that’s enough for him to bite his tongue. He could remind Roy of the horrible things she’s done, but he doesn’t need to. Roy’s a smart enough man to never forget in the first place.

And when Roy thinks of Jade, his thoughts are immediately chased down by images and thoughts of his daughter. Every conversation about Jade becomes a discussion about Lian. No matter how low he feels, or how melancholy he is when he talks about regret and missed chances and turning back time, it’s always a matter of minutes before he mentions her name. He mentions her name, and his face lights up with joy.

That feeling…

Dick’s body is trembling. Tension. Emotions he shouldn’t be experiencing. Thoughts he shouldn’t be having. Selfish thoughts. Jealous thoughts. Thoughts that say, _Why was it so easy for you,_ even though he knows it wasn’t. He knows Roy’s suffered. He knows Roy’s been through nights of loneliness, of rage, of frustration, of death-defying acts. Defying death because he loved Jade, out of all the women he could have chosen. But even so.

Death defying… Roy and Dick both, they live that every day. Roy and Dick both, they are seduced by darkness. Roy and Dick both, they would each go to Hell and back if the situation called for it. When it did, it was Dick that supported him, helped him, went with him. It was Dick that led Roy to Jade, Dick that helped him find Lian. It was Dick that convinced him, that told him to be thankful, to be grateful, to accept that even though it was the wrong woman, Lian was the miracle he couldn’t regret.

Thoughts he shouldn’t be having. Thoughts that say, _You didn’t even want her,_ and other horrible things. Selfish things. Jealous things.

Remembering all they went through, the nights when Roy kept him up, talking and rambling and cursing. Scared because he wasn’t ready to be a father, angry at the situation because of how suddenly it happened, saying he wished he’d had more time, saying he wished he was a better man. Desperate to get Lian away from her mother, saying he regretted that it even happened, regretted that he even had to think about it, _What’ll I do with a child, just look at me,_ and so on. And so on.

Selfish thoughts. Thoughts he’d never voice out loud. Thoughts like, _I would’ve been ready._ Because he is vindictive and hurt and it’s awful. It’s awful of him. It’s awful for a friend to think this way.

Today was Lian’s third birthday. Roy talked about her through their entire lunch together, even though it was supposed to be about work. He couldn’t stop talking about her, told him about their plans for her party, how bad he was at planning, how Dick really should come by and see her more often, _She likes you, you know,_ teasing and so on. And so on.

Thoughts he shouldn’t be having. Jealous thoughts. Selfish thoughts. Angry thoughts. Thoughts of regret, of self-hatred, of doubt, of the darkness that’s slowly eating him alive.

Why…

Dick can’t stop shaking. Can’t stay here. Can’t stay here alone anymore.

-

Bruce is not a comforting presence. Nurturing is something that’s never been natural to the man. He’s seemingly allergic to hugs, and cold in appearance and manner. He listens and offers rational advice, neutral and sometimes firm advice that quiets emotion and disregards feelings. He doesn’t do well with sensitive people. Wounded people. Broken people.

But if there’s one thing Bruce can always manage, it’s to take Dick’s mind away from his sorrow. The distraction of racing across the rooftops in Gotham. The feeling of not being so alone, when he involves him during an investigation. The fond memory of what it was like, when they were closer. When Dick was always by his side, day in and day out. Before it started to hurt. Before his heart started to ache.

In that magical time before he got his hopes up. Before he started to believe the impossible. Before optimism carried his dreams into the sky and reality sunk them.

The day he sat in the doctor’s office, nervous and shaking, and she politely advised him that he should stop trying. _You’re still young,_ she said. _You can have a full life._

_Adoption could be an option._

But at least she was honest. Better than the one before her, who insisted on a variety of tests he’d never heard of, examinations that only proved the obvious. Each time, the news was harder to take. Each time, the news hit harder.

When Dick Grayson was 23 years old, he was diagnosed with infertility.

It was unbelievable. It still is. He’d protested. He’d refused to settle for that. Refused to stop. Said that he was medically healthy, said that he’d only been taking hormones for a few years, said he’d even cut back when they started trying to conceive and-

She was kind. Kind and honest. Said that some people are barely able to conceive, hormones or not. Said that the hormones likely had little to do with it. Said that, evidently, stopping them wouldn't repair the situation. That he should instead do his best to feel better about himself, and move on.

That was the fifth visit. The fourth one he hadn’t told Bruce about. And that’s the damning secret he doesn’t want the man to know.

Because it feels good to pretend. It feels good to make love to a partner that believes there’s still a chance. It feels good to indulge the fantasy, the implications behind Bruce’s considerate warnings and cautions. It feels good to be treated like a lover, a lover that’s fertile and alive and whose body isn’t broken.

Because Bruce doesn’t know how to handle broken people.

He never found the right words for the young girl that was crying on his shoulder, sobbing because she couldn’t stand being a girl at all. He never found the right words for the young teenager, the boy that hated himself because his body was female. And he never found the words for the young adult, crying when he said he wanted to have children, how stupid was that, he wanted to have children and he was worried it was too late now.

Didn’t have words when they started trying, seriously trying once Dick was old enough, and each test came back negative. Doesn’t have words now, when they both know it’s been a couple of years. Doesn’t have words while they deny the obvious truth, living in bliss like nothing ever happened. Like Dick never wished for anything more than what he has right now.

Dick has always been broken, in some way. The little girl that happily lived as the Boy Wonder. The orphan that fell in love with his supposed father figure. The young man that was growing up; an adult finally at peace with himself when an ambitious dream crashed down and ruined everything.

He cried when the doctor gave him the news. He cried himself raw. Cried until he could barely breathe. Stayed awake all night, distracting himself with sex, distracting himself with physical attention from a lover that didn’t know why he was hurting, didn’t know what was happening, and respectfully didn’t ask.

Because Bruce doesn’t ask, when he’s consoling someone that’s broken. Even if he wants to know, he won’t cross that line. Especially not with Dick. With Dick, he won’t try. Because Dick tells him everything. Dick tells him everything that’s important.

Except for this.

Because Dick wants to believe. He couldn’t keep sacrificing the hours and time to go in for one visit after another, to receive the same bad news each time. But he wants to live in bliss. Wants to be happy. Wants to return to a time when he thought he could have everything, with only a few months of sacrifice. That the miracle would happen easily, accidentally, with as little effort as it took someone like Roy.

Tries to imagine himself with a daughter. Imagines how the conversation would possibly go, when she asks why she doesn’t have a mother. Imagines how Bruce would react to a little girl clawing at his cape, asking him why he’s dressed up so funny. Imagines Alfred, kind old Alfred, perplexed and disapproving of their relationship as he always has, finding it within himself to teach her manners and read her books and watch her when they’re away.

Imagines growing old with Bruce by his side, with photos in the mail from her new family, husband or wife and children. Grumpy Bruce, that bitter old man, still trying to battle crime with technology and intel, even if Dick forces him to do it from the safety of his home. The day he forces Bruce to retire, and their daughter would say something like, _I told you so,_ and they’d laugh about it over the phone.

Adoption is an option. Yeah, it is.

But who the hell would adopt a child to anyone like him. No family on record, save for a notorious playboy. Inconsistent work experience. Living in a dingy apartment in a bad neighborhood, and—judging by reports from his neighbors alone—ordinarily out during strange hours of the night. Single, also from their observations. In various inconsistent, on and off again—off for good now—relationships with women that come and go. Who the hell would understand that. Who would want to.

He couldn’t tell them that he was planning to live with Bruce in Gotham. That they had Alfred to help them. That he’d be able to scale back his hours. That he’d even consider a temporary retirement, because he had a partner that spoiled him rotten, and would do all he could to make sure Bludhaven never felt the loss.

So sure, adoption is an option. For someone else.

He reaches out; hands grasping into empty air. The image of Roy holding Lian, the way she laughs when he lifts her up. The way it felt to hold her, that one time so long time ago, when Dick could stand it. The joy in his heart, the happiness in his soul when she smiled back at him.

He’s crying again. Silently, now.

And once again, Bruce doesn’t ask.

-

Dick is straddling Bruce’s lap, lowering himself on top of the man as his lover kisses his chest, a rough and firm hand tracing over faint scars. Scars where breasts should have been; where they used to be-

But he’s not dwelling on that. Not dwelling on it, now. Because he’s never regretted them being gone, and today is not a good time for that. Today, he can’t handle it.

There’s a light kiss against his nipple and that hand continues to roam across sensitive skin. Bitten by the cold air of this room, on edge and tense as his lover rocks him slowly, methodically, rhythmically to calm him down. Because what Bruce can’t say, he expresses with his body. Concern. Confusion. Things he’d never say out loud, he communicates with a gentle touch, slow and soothing.

Dick is winding his arms around the man’s shoulders as he listens to him breathe, deep and slow, breathes deep and slow as they start to fuck, deep and slow.

Dick closes his eyes. And he starts to pretend.

-

Two times, so far. And still…

Don’t give up. Don’t quit. Don’t stop. Can’t.

Because the truth hurts and the more aggressively he fights it, the farther he can send it away. The farther he can banish it from his world. He can feel the anxiety he should be feeling, fear of the potential unknown. Fear of the world outside this room, of the questions and criticism and skepticism and doubt he’s been expecting from others. Their comments and jeers and laughter and whatever else. He wants to handle it. Wants to face it. Wants to fight it, and win that war. Needs to conquer the enemy. Needs to face the enemy with plenty of ammunition.

Needs to win something. Needs to win _this_ , more than freedom. Needs this more than their tolerance. Needs this more than their quiet acceptance, their resolution that it’d never be a big deal. Needs to make it one. Needs it to be serious. Important. Genuine.

Dick needs the world to know that he loves Bruce. That he loves him so much, he’ll carry his child-

But it’s not just about proving something. It’s not just the immature need to rebel. It’s never been about what they think. Not just.

It’s about being a force to be reckoned with. Their relationship, their union, their love being undeniable. The family they would have, the future they will build, the lifetime they will live. The promise to Bruce, that he’s still there. The love he has to give, not just to the man, but to the miracle they could create together. The need to be a partner. The need to be a parent. To feel the way Roy does when he looks at Lian. To know what it’s like to be called _Daddy_ and to live in a state of delight and compassion and concern and complete, incomprehensible love for one being.

He’s getting emotional. He needs to stop.

So he focuses intently on the feeling of Bruce’s cock inside him, and rocks himself a little faster, riding, riding, riding. Because fucking makes the thoughts quiet down. It keeps the sadness away.

A rough hand tracing up his spine. More kisses to his chest. And the hurried breathing, tense and almost in pain, the tension of a man that’s about to come.

Bruce’s hands settle over his hips, to pin him still as he thrusts at a more controlled pace now, fast and forceful. Dick is looking down at him with heavy eyes, heavy eyes and parted lips gasping for air—it’s so difficult to breathe when Bruce gets like this—because in those next minutes, Bruce is fucking him harder than he has for the past hour, hard and fast, so hard and fast that it almost hurts. Dick is a mess; he’s a mess just then, his arms around the man’s shoulders, his face buried against his neck as he comes, shivering, shaking. Sparks dancing, and Bruce is thrusting harder than ever, almost panting from the effort, breathing hurried and fast and desperate.

Bruce smells like sweat and leather. It’s a good combination. It’s soothing. Soothing-

Dick shivers again when Bruce comes, that familiar warmth inside him, that feeling he loves more than anything in the whole world. Firm hands, rough hands firmly running up his back as he fills him up, with a familiar sigh and the familiar sensation of the tension leaving his body. First his shoulders relax, and then his arms, and then his hands; his touch is gentler, by the time he reaches his shoulders.

And when Dick kisses him on the mouth, Bruce is quick to return the gesture, automatic, like an instinct. He doesn’t think about it, doesn’t question it. And when Dick does that one more time for good measure, he can hear Bruce sigh as he sits back, looking up at his lover with a look of contented exhaustion.

“Dick…” he tells him. It’s not a question.

“No,” because he recognizes that train of thought, before it arrives. Pleads with him, “One more time.”

“I’m…” he pauses, uncertain, “not sure I can, Dick.”

“Please,” he’s pleading quietly, a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “for me.”

A moment of silence. Dick knows what that means. He knows what he’s about to tell him.

“I’m sorry,” with a neutral expression, even as his body language spells out his regret. “I can’t.”

“Okay,” Dick’s forcing a grin, a polite nod as he leans back, to give him some space. “Alright.”

A reassuring touch; fingers dancing over his shoulders, before it’s gone.

“I’m alright.”

Bruce knows he isn’t. But he’s not going to say anything. Better to leave it be.

-

“Hey, handsome,” a beautiful woman in a long coat and high heels, with flowing black hair, and eyes that sparkle behind heavy lashes.

“Donna,” he saunters up to her, an arm around her shoulder as he tugs her into a casual embrace.

“You’re friendly today,” she comments. Behind them, cars are rumbling down the street, as the nearest traffic light turns green.

“I’m not always?” he grins at her. Stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets to fight the chill, as a sharp wind rolls through.

“Not this much,” she says. Her lips pursed in a smirk, “What’s wrong.”

He sighs with some sarcasm. “You know me too well.”

And she laughs, quietly. “Don’t I always.”

-

“So what’s the matter, babe?” She’s stirring her drink with the straw. With a slight wink, “Is it Roy? Is he annoying you?”

Dick feels bad for it, but he laughs.

But Donna continues on in stride, her fingers tapping against the glass, “I noticed you left early yesterday.”

“Oops,” Dick tries to fight the blush that’s creeping onto his face. “Sorry. I was trying to be discreet.”

Donna smirks back. “I’m scared to ask.”

“Don’t be,” Dick pauses. “It’s not his fault.”

Around them, noise picks up. Chatter, loud and rising. It feels remarkably similar to the lunch he just had with Roy, but somehow very different. Because of what he’s going to say. Because of how much more honest he’s prepared to be. How much of the truth he has to tell, now.

“Donna…” he lets the brief silence ease some of his nerves, “Have you ever wanted to be a mother?”

She answers calmly, swiftly, “It’s crossed my mind.”

More silence. Dick takes a sip from his soda; he can feel Donna’s eyes on him. She’s thinking. Considering. About to pick up where he left off.

“So you want to be a mom,” she says with the hint of a smile.

“A dad, I guess,” he shrugs, more so to himself than her. “Or something in between.”

“I think you’re a little bit of both.”

When he looks at her, she’s smiling. Warmly. Kindly.

“And I’m not just saying that because of what I _know_ about you. You’re… a little bit of both, masculine and feminine. It’s a good thing.”

“Thanks.”

Silence. Peaceful, now. The chatter of nearby conversations provides ambient noise. Dick glances out the window, hoping the thoughts will come to him. Because he has more to say. So much more to say. But words aren’t coming the way they usually do.

“You’d be a good parent,” Donna says. “With...” she looks at him, her eyes giving a slight frown, “Whoever you’re seeing right now?” Her voice betrays her, with a small laugh she tries to suppress.

“Well…”

“I know it’s not one of your usual interests,” she says with a tilt of her head, as her hair tumbles over her shoulder, “or you wouldn’t be talking to me.”

“Is that so?” he grins.

“You wouldn’t be bothered by it,” she smirks. “So it’s someone… problematic.”

He shivers, almost out of instinct. She reads him so well. Too well. It’s uncomfortable; she looks at him and sees into his soul. To her, that reaction says everything.

“Bruce,” she says quietly, her eyes growing wide. “You went back, didn’t you?”

He sighs. Presses a hand over his mouth in a self-conscious instinct, idly chews on one of his fingertips. His voice a faint murmur, “yes.”

“Since when,” she’s leaning forward.

“A while.”

She frowns at him, “You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

Said too much. Didn’t mean to be that honest. He meant to be smoother than that. More suave. Because it makes him look like he’s ashamed. Like he’s embarrassed of his love. Never. It’s never been that. But it’s many other things. Different things.

The fact that Bruce felt some shame over it. The fact that they were in love with each other, so desperately, so absurdly, so stupidly infatuated that it felt criminal to even try to explain or justify it. It felt wrong to ever need to defend it. The way they had to, before. When everyone believed that their affair, that passionate _fling_ when Dick was too young to know any better was just a mistake he’d grown out of. That he’d discovered what true love was, that he’d found more meaningful love with women like Kory and Barbara, and that he’d never have to resort to lusting after his mentor ever again.

But he’d never stopped. He’d never grown out of it. He’d never come close. He couldn’t move on. He’d reached a point where he didn’t want to, anymore. Because no matter what anyone said, being apart from him had always felt more wrong than right.

“So you’re… _oh_ ,” Donna’s expression falls serious. “Okay. I get it.”

The waiter arrives. Drops off their food, steaming off the plates. They thank her. She smiles back, says, “Enjoy,” and leaves. It’s an ordinary moment in an otherwise uncomfortable, surreal conversation.

Donna narrows her eyes at him. She wants to be skeptical, but she’s being polite. Dick recognizes that tone in her voice. “So you… want a kid.”

“Yes.”

“With him.”

“Yes.”

A pause.

Dick picks up a fork, stabbing at the sandwich on his plate, separating its two halves farther apart.

“ _Dick_ ,” she sighs.

“Yes,” he looks up with a slight grin, to lighten the mood.

“Will you forgive me if I can’t support this?” She’s sending a wry smile, a weary curve of her lips that’s not cruel, but far from encouraging.

It hurts to earn her disapproval. Donna, wise Donna, supportive Donna. Intelligent Donna, who’ll smack him when he gets out of line, unable to manage much more than a concerned smile. It’s disappointing. But not unexpected.

“It’s okay,” he manages. “I don’t expect it to be a popular choice.”

“You don’t expect…” she trails off. Suddenly, she sits up straight, hands pressed flat against the table as she leans forward, her voice in a hurried whisper, “Are you attempting this for real?”

He falls silent. Idly takes a bite from his sandwich, because he’s feeling a bit too tense to answer that. Too tense to eat either, but something has to give.

“Dick,” she hisses at him.

“Donna,” he grins at her.

“No,” she frowns at him.

He laughs quietly.

“You’re out of your mind,” she says.

He keeps a grin on his face, because it masks his hurt remarkably well. There’s nothing he has to say, anyway. Nothing she doesn’t know.

Well, there’s plenty she doesn’t know. Nothing he can mention comfortably. Not if she’s already reacting like this. Regardless of what she would say out loud, she would delight in his misfortune. She would see the benefit, the upside that doesn’t exist for him at all.

The upside, that it’s one less problem to worry about. She wouldn’t feel the heartache. The tragedy. The loss. The need he couldn’t ever explain. So he stays silent. Grins at her in that silence, waits to see what else she’ll say.

“You know…” she’s finally started digging into her meal, a fork and knife cutting into a large pile of salad and small slices of chicken, “You’re not just…” she’s choosing her words carefully, “doing this because he can do _that_ for you, right?”

Dick needs a moment to pull his jaw up from off the floor. He comes back at her with a bewildered grin, “What?”

“I mean…” she’s trying to soften her words more, “You could find a donor, or someone else you know… If that’s what you really want, I’m sure Roy would do it-”

Dick has to fight a laugh, “I’m not inviting Roy into my pants.”

Donna laughs right back, “He’d never leave.”

Dick can’t keep it quiet this time, boisterous and loud, he nearly yells, “Donna! How can you say that?”

She’s giggling and smirking, “He likes you…” She tilts her head back, “You know you'd be his, if you asked him-”

“Whoa,” the laughter finally starting to die down. “That’s priceless.”

Silence, one more time.

But Donna comes back with a vengeance. A knock-out.

“I told you not to do this to yourself.”

Silence. Painful, now.

“You remember what happened last time…”

“Yeah.”

“He left you completely in the cold. You know that. You hated that.”

“I know-”

“You hated _him_ , Dick.”

“No.”

Her eyes, those heavy eyes staring into his soul. Concern. Doubt.

“Never.”

Donna sighs. Too tense to eat. Too stressed to say a word. Not yet.

Dick is slowly losing his resolve to attempt it either. He slides the plate away. Elbows on the table, he places his face in his hands and falls silent. Frowns at nothing and everything. Exhales a slow, deep sigh.

“Dick…” her voice, gentle.

“I know.” He runs his hands through his hair, staring down at the table with glossy eyes. “I _know_ , Donna.”

Her voice, quiet. “I just don’t want you to make a huge mistake.”

Silence. The weight of that statement is oppressive.

And when she asks, “Do you believe.. you two could make that work?” The answer is remarkably simple. Too simple. Instinctual. Automatic.

“I have to.”

She’s closing her eyes. She knows what he’s about to say.

“Donna… I think he’s it for me.”

The endgame.

Donna’s shaking her head, but her voice is calm and resolute. “Well. I’d say more, but…” she sends him a sly smile, “I know you’re too stubborn for me to change your mind.”

Dick laughs quietly.

It’s not an approval. But it is a step forward.

-

That awful day, all those years ago. When they stood before the League, and had to answer for their crimes. When they had to answer for their obsession with each other. Dick had tried to be honest—did his best to be honest about the good intention and compassion they felt and _We’re not hurting anyone_ —and Bruce took a moment of silence, and said that all of it was non-issue. He told them that it was done, so they’d never have to discuss it again. He called it a lapse of judgment.

He left Dick on his own, to pick up the pieces. Because Bruce doesn’t know how to deal with broken people. And that day, that evening in front of everyone they knew, he broke him.

Dick lost faith. He lost hope. Felt a complete lack of encouragement and support and could do little to shrug off the sympathetic hugs from others, the passive aggressive advice, backhanded compliments that he was better off. How could he be better off without his partner? It didn’t make sense.

Looking back, it still doesn’t. Bruce ever believing they could exist like that, that they could work together and not be in love, and not want more of what they had. That was the lapse of judgment.

So Dick fled to Bludhaven. Found himself. Lost himself in a few new relationships and engagements. Almost settled down. Tried his best. But Fate played its hand and he found himself back in Gotham, bitter and nostalgic and feeling more alone than he ever had.

That night on the rooftop, when he kissed Batman. When he started, and couldn’t stop. When Bruce touched him, touched him again like his lover, held him in his arms while they made love in his Towers penthouse.

Dick knew, then. He knows, now. That he’d never leave his side again. That they would remain like this, needed to remain like this, passionate and driven and desperate for each other, the way they always had been.

Because Dick never got over his so-called childish love for the man. And Bruce never lost the instinct, the automatic need to claim him, to keep him close.

When Dick asked Bruce if they could have a baby, because he was nearing the age that he wanted one, was feeling maternal and every other reason and excuse he could manage, Bruce took a few days to think it over. Left it in silence, before he came back with an agreement. A statement, “If it will make you happy.”

Most would expect more encouragement from their partners. Most would want—would need—more excitement, more interest, more dedication. But Bruce doesn’t do a single thing he doesn’t want to. Not even for him. So when Dick heard that statement, subtle as it was, it sent him over the moon. Because that meant it was okay; that meant it was alright. That they could do this and Bruce would make the best of it. In Bruce’s world, his world of paranoia and fear and cynicism, that resolution meant more than enough.

But then there came the darkness. When the doctor informed Dick that he couldn’t have the child he wanted. That it was too much to ask for.

So he’s coming to terms with it. He’s getting to a point where it almost feels okay. Because he can’t give up. He can’t quit. Even if it means lying to the law and putting on an elaborate ruse to get an adoption cleared, if that’s what it takes, that’s what he needs to do. There’s no option for failure. No option for looking back with regret in a number of years, wondering about this time in his life when he was so close to achieving his dream, and he chose to let it go.

So here he is.

Back at Wayne Manor. In his lover’s bed, where it feels like home. There’s a heavy arm draped over his waist, and he’s listening to his breathing, deep and slow.

Trying to remember those days alone in Bludhaven, when mornings like these did not exist. Even to the time before, those years when they were ruled by passion and impulse, and never took the time to slow down. Before he knew what it was like to wake up next to the same person you went to bed with. And not just because you had sex, but because you love them. Because you want to open your eyes to the new day and see that person, more than anything else in the world.

He's kissing Bruce on the face, and he can’t remember when he ever felt like this. Can’t remember a time before he loved this man so desperately, but can’t remember ever being so certain. The resolution that he wants to wake up beside him, as many days as he possibly can, for the rest of his life. That he wants a family, new memories in this house, and a future that doesn’t involve them hiding this, burying this, denying this. That the small amount of honesty Bruce is finally starting to show, will make him more brave. More courageous.

He needs to talk. Needs to talk to him. To tell him the truth. To start planning and rebuild his life as it needs to be. To craft the ruse. To tame his ego and swallow his pride. To know that Bruce will forgive him for being broken.

In a way, Dick has always been a broken human being. But the optimism made it hurt less. He doesn’t think he can run from the damage, anymore. Doesn’t think he can continue to act like the wounds don’t exist.

“I want to start a family,” he finally says.

Beside him, his lover stirs.

“I want us to get ready.” With some hesitation, “I want us to have a baby.”

A half-awake sigh, as the man opens his eyes with some weariness from a long night. “We’ve discussed this,” he says. He’s not being cruel. He’s very calm. Neutral.

“No, I…” He looks away. Lets his eyes roam across the silhouette of his lover’s body beneath the sheets, because he can’t linger on his face. Can’t make eye contact when he says this. “We need a different plan.”

Silence. Need to say the rest. He needs to say the rest.

“I…” with a sigh that’s almost like crying, from deep within his soul. And when he speaks he starts shaking, “I can’t have one.” He doesn’t need to say much else. It’s obvious. But he needs to get the words out, or they will turn to poison. “I’m… done trying. I give up,” a tense smile. “I’ve tried and failed enough, so… But we could… We could adopt. I don’t think a surrogate is an option, so… Whenever you’re ready, we can…”

Shaking; he’s shaking too badly. He needs to stop. So he lays down into the bed, hoping to somehow bury himself within the sheets, to where he couldn’t be seen. Because his eyes are tearing up and it’s humiliating. How can he do this, if he can’t even talk about it without…

Silence. Of course. Because Bruce doesn’t know how to deal with-

A hand on his shoulder. A gentle squeeze. And it takes Dick everything within him to not stare back at him with disbelief. Because Bruce doesn’t know how to comfort. He doesn’t know what to say, or-

That hand travels; across his chest, and Bruce is moving closer. Dick’s staring back at him as his lover leans down, seals the space with a firm kiss to the side of his face. He’s still shaking; he trembles beneath his touch, and he feels Bruce breathing, hears the faint sigh when he pulls his body towards him, brings him into his arms in a firm embrace.

It’s seamless, the way they fit together. It always has been. Bruce knows Dick’s body better than his own, and in moments like these he shows it. He knows how to hold him, so that he feels safe. Knows the way his body curves and moves against his own, knows where to wind his arms around him, knows where his legs will naturally go, and how to position his own above and between them. Knows to kiss Dick on the side of his face one more time, because it reassures him. Knows what that shiver means, that shaking in his body and what it means when he keeps his eyes closed.

Bruce knows that he’s in pain. Knows what he wanted, and how badly. How exhausting the effort was, how desperately he tried. Knows that look in his eyes, just before he closed them, to cry without drawing attention to it. Knows this silence, this unsettling silence, when he trembles in that void of sound and that he will remain this way until the feeling goes away. Until the initial heartache subsides, which could be a matter of minutes or an hour. For this disappointment, he’ll need more time.

Because no matter how long he knew about this before, he’s only now facing it. He’s only now announcing it as the truth. Accepting it.

So he keeps his arms around him. Lets his lover linger in the warmth of their bodies, lets the morning pass in that silence. He hears Dick sigh. But that’s a good thing. Better to show some emotion than none. That’s how he heals. That’s how he lives.

And when Dick murmurs an, “I’m sorry,” into the pillow, Bruce has to keep some restraint. Restraint enough to know that, somewhere inside Dick’s mind, his guilt makes sense. Restraint to know that in his heart and soul, he feels he’s committed a wrongdoing against Bruce. That he made an unspoken promise that he’s failed to keep. That, as it has many times before, his body fell short of the expectations Bruce should have for it. Because Dick has always felt that he was an incomplete man, and a broken woman before that. That he was never what Bruce wanted him to be.

He hates it when Dick thinks this way. But he has restraint enough to not react with anger. So instead it’s a quiet statement, “You haven’t wronged me.”

And the shaking, the trembling, the silence begins to subside. He’s breathing normally again. He’s coming back to life.

Another kiss to the side of his face, and he hears his lover sigh one more time. A final goodbye.

-

Goodbye to days of mourning. To the days of regret.

There’s a kiss lingering at the edge of his lips. A firm hand at the base of his neck and with a rock of his hips, he takes his lover’s cock inside him; lets it sink in, and somehow it’s different. Somehow it feels different, but it’s still the same. Always the same, enough resistance for his body to feel it push deeper, forceful and somewhat rough because the man is clumsy when he first begins. He’s impulsive and sudden and instinctual, but he feels good-

Because he expresses his love when they have sex, heavy and rough kisses trailing down his jawline and firm hands smoothing down his chest. The scent of sweat and the almost uncomfortable heat between their bodies, his legs hooked around Bruce’s hips as the man starts to thrust. Slow and deep, like he’s breaking him in, gentle at the start every time. It’s erotic when his cock almost slips out of him, only to be driven back in, slow and steady. His lover’s teasing and he knows it; but it works his body into a frenzy, gets his cunt nice and wet-

Dick whines to himself, because the blood starts to rush and his legs are tensing up, shaking as he rides out the first wave of pleasure. His body is waking up. He feels alive again. Something about the way they fuck; sex with anyone else has never felt like this. It never feels the way Bruce does-

Slow and deep, slow and deep, he treats every thrust like it’s his last. The scent of sex in the air, and Bruce is about to lose his restraint. He’s about to lose his composure; because Dick is starting to sigh, small and broken gasps leaving his lips and it takes everything within him to not close that space with his tongue, to not take him into a kiss while he ravages his body, driving in without mercy and pounding him furiously, so hard and fast he cries out loud.

Slow and deep, Dick’s eyes are heavy as he stares up at him, beautiful dark eyes that drive Bruce mad. Eyes that made him fall for him, fall for him so deep when Dick kissed him for the first time. Dick’s eyes are the darkest blue he’s ever seen; brilliant and dramatic.

Dick gasps one more time, trembling when Bruce pushes himself further inside, a cunt that’s tight and hot and almost uncomfortably tensing around him. “Relax,” it’s a low growl, and Dick tries to comply but he likes the pain, likes the ache of knowing he’s being fucked hard. So no matter how he relaxes, he keeps it tense, keeps himself on edge when Bruce slides in to the base of his cock, deep enough to feel the knocking against his cervix and thinking briefly that, ordinarily, this would be enough to drive Dick crazy.

But Dick is in a different place, in his heart and mind, than he ever was before. So when Bruce starts to thrust deep and hard, hitting against it Dick is sighing to himself, but it’s more from pleasure than the act itself. Bruce knows it hurts him. Knows it aches, to be this close. But Dick thrives on pain.

Dick, this beautiful bird, this precious thing; he thrives on the hurt in his body, thrives on his lover fucking him too far inside, thrives on feeling every inch of his cock, and of feeling too tight and forcefully penetrated. And he thrives on the sensation of his lover hitting against that forbidden entrance, making him hurt and ache and threatening to impregnate him when he comes. That’s the sort of threat Dick loves; because he finds comfort in being at the man’s complete mercy, comfort in knowing his body is at the mercy of anything Bruce demands of him, whether it’s to be fucked or to carry his baby.

Dick still wants the dream. He still wants to believe. But it hurts too much to dwell on it, so he doesn’t think realistically. He closes his eyes and lets his thoughts drift, starts to fantasize about Bruce coming inside him, repeatedly, coming inside him until he knocks him up. He starts to shiver and he knows the man feels it, because he frowns to himself and thrusts a little faster. Because it’s not enough, this is not enough-

It hurts and it’s deep and beautiful but it’s not enough.

Hovering above him, he’s watching Bruce lower himself on top of him, chests only inches apart as firm hands position themselves on either side of his face. Hands that slide down, arms flat against the bedsheets as Dick closes his eyes and dwells in it, in the warmth and the weight of his lover, trailing his hands around the man’s back, indulging in the scent of his sweat and the taste of his skin as he starts to kiss his face. Because it’s so close now, so close and within reach.

When Bruce thrusts again it feels more intimate, the distance closed between them. He’s not fucking his cunt anymore; he keeps himself inside, stays deep to fuck against his cervix, trying desperately to enter it as Dick starts to moan and whine, alternating sounds of pleasure from how overwhelming it is, how unnatural, how painful and demanding and forceful.

He keeps his eyes closed; feels nothing but the weight of Bruce’s body, nothing but his cock knocking inside him and a sharp and stinging sensation when the man starts to bite his neck, claiming him, marking him. Dick is his bitch; Dick is his property, and he sighs and tilts his head back into the pillow and lets him work, lets him draw blood as he fucks him fast and rough, wet and vulgar sounds of sex and the persistent thud of the bedframe hitting against the wall.

Dick runs a hand along his lover’s back, feels beads of sweat on his fingertips. Feels the man’s body move beneath his touch, muscles tensing and shifting in a way that only a body like his does. A body so firm, so compacted, so structured and powerful. Dick was jealous of it, when he was younger. Jealous of Bruce’s sculptured body, his impressive musculature, his strength; it wasn’t uncommon for him to sneak glances of him in the shower, watch him change clothes when he didn’t know he was there, to masturbate from that confusing blend of lust and self-pity and doubt.

But there’s no hesitance anymore. There’s no question. This body he loves, this body he’s spent a lifetime wanting to touch, to feel, to have, to explore is within his reach. Sometimes it still startles him; sometimes it still catches him by surprise that Bruce is here, willing to fuck him. That Bruce fucks him regularly, often, and with genuine interest. How hard Bruce gets, when he sees him. How tense, how focused, how aroused he is when he pushes his way inside him. How patient, how tolerant, how accepting he is of all the various things that drive him mad-

How he lingers on his neck, devotes it special attention as he can feel the familiar sting of pain, and blood pooling on the surface. Bruce kisses and tastes the wound like a lover, gives it due affection as he continues to thrust into him, body focused and tense and rhythmic and persistent. Thrusts that have no mercy, giving his cunt the heavy and fast pounding he loves. Aching, hurting, the familiar pressure that he wants to come, wants to feel Bruce come inside him, wants to be fucked while he’s filled up and fucked again and filled up some more and fucked again. Wants to be fucked until they defy the laws of nature, of chance, of predictability; wants to be fucked until there’s so much cum inside him that the only possible outcome is to make a baby. Wants there to be no chance for failure. No room for error. No sensation but his lover’s cock pounding his own cum deeper inside him.

Dick is gasping out loud now, a hurried panting that leaves him breathless and moaning in between each breath. Moans that become whimpers and whines, his lover’s tongue cleaning the blood from his skin as his cock seems to swell inside him. Bruce is tensing; his body is tensing, that familiar stress in his back and the disruption in his breathing when he’s on the edge.

“Come on,” Dick is closing his eyes, his voice soft and slow, “Give me a baby;” he bites his lip when Bruce gives a final thrust, hard and rough against his cervix where it hurts and stings and that’s exactly what Dick wants, exactly-

The warmth of the man’s cum, and the sensation of his cock throbbing and shifting inside him as he fills him up. Incredible; Dick is kissing his lover’s face, forcibly holding him there as the man rides out his pleasure, face tense and eyes heavy.

And when he comes down, he doesn’t hesitate; he looks at Dick with certainty, a familiar look of determination and focus and starts to thrust again. He’s going soft but he still has time, still has enough time-

To make Dick come, when he pushes inside him one more time, biting his lips as he whines into the kiss. Cries out and comes, a broken and hollow sigh when his body reacts, legs going weak as he falls back into the bed, his lover on top of him, hot and heavy on top of him as he closes his eyes and sees stars.

And he snaps back into awareness to the sensation of Bruce kissing his face, tasting along his jawline as he opens his eyes. Runs his hands up his lover’s back, lets him—needs him to—remain there. Needs him to stay inside him, to not pull out, to not pull back yet. Needs him to stay there, needs to feel him there, needs this moment to linger.

When Bruce trails a kiss near his lips, Dick turns to meet his mouth. Tastes the dried blood on his lips, kissing and sighing and breathing deep and slow when Bruce gently slides himself out of him.

For the first time in a long time, Dick feels…

Complete.

Like he doesn’t need to fuck Bruce a thousand times, because there’s cum inside him, his lover on top of him and he’s tired and awake at the same time. That the world makes more sense, makes sense enough, now that things are this perfect; makes sense enough to slow it down and let each round speak for itself and linger between them.

But that doesn’t stop them from fucking a second time. Or a third.

But between each round, it feels incredible to know that he could stop—they could stop—and he’d still feel alright. He’s losing his desperation. He’s losing his impatience. He feels whole and full and complete and content and it’s nothing short of a miracle.

The gentle massage of Bruce’s cock thrusting into a well-lubricated cunt, slow and deep, slow and deep. It’s romantic; that’s the only word Dick could find to describe it adequately. Romantic and sensual and his body loves the feel of him, loves the sensation of being so full, of cum dripping out every time Bruce pulls back and pushes himself back in.

He loves the fantasy. So he lets it linger. Loves the potential, the possibility, the dream. That reassurance every time he comes, every time he leans back and spreads his legs and lets Bruce fill him up, that he’s guaranteeing a pregnancy, that there’s no goddamned way it could fail at all. That there is no science or chemistry or biology that could fail to give him a child. That Bruce can knock him up; that he will. Right now-

When Bruce pulls himself out for that third time, Dick remains still, gently fondling himself as he spends the moment enjoying the feeling of all that cum inside him, stroking his clit and rubbing in circles as Bruce looks down with a look of appreciation. It’s subtle, but it’s there; the way that Dick always knows when Bruce is staring at him with interest, with fascination. With love-

Bruce is kissing the side of his face again, and then his mouth as Dick continues to touch himself, legs tensing as they start to shake with lingering sparks of pleasure. When Bruce slides a hand between them, pressing a finger against his entrance and sliding it in, Dick gasps against his lips, with a sigh that says, “Yes,” and the brief flash of a wild look in his eyes.

Bruce cannot do it anymore—cannot physically do it anymore—but he contributes what he can, sliding a second finger, and then a third inside his lover’s eager cunt. Dick’s tilting his head back, moaning as he continues to massage himself, teasing and touching with vulgar and wet sounds of cum on his fingers, cum on his body, cum on Bruce’s hand as he continues to work him, a gentle fucking with his hand that moves the cum inside him, massages it around and makes Dick shake with pleasure. He’s trembling, trembling as he gasps and moans, moans as he’s coming close—so close already—and Bruce is kissing him and he’s shaking and sighing as Bruce continues to move his fingers around, gently, slowly, gentle and slow the way he knows Dick likes it.

Bruce breaks the kiss, pulls his hand out, gently, slowly as Dick stares down at him with some curiosity; but he doesn’t stop. Neither of them stop. Dick continues to rub himself, his clit swollen when Bruce leans down and licks against it; the broken pant from Dick as he shudders. Kissing it, lavishing with affection as Bruce slides a finger inside him one more time, this time with a specific intent. A specific purpose; he’s rubbing exactly where he needs to, exactly where Dick is the most sensitive, reaching up and into him and stroking; stroking as he licks his clit, stroking as he licks the surrounding area, sensitive and warm and slick and wet. Because Bruce likes the way he tastes, he cleans him up, affectionate and slow as Dick whimpers and whines.

And when Dick comes this time, it’s not as powerful; but it’s strong enough. He curses under his breath, and arches his hips up when he does, body at the mercy of his final orgasm.

Bruce trails a firm hand up his stomach; it’s almost ethereal, a sign of greater and better things. Dick says quietly, “There’ll be a baby in there someday,” even if he doesn’t really believe it; even if Bruce knows the truth, now. Even if they both know that Dick is broken, and that his body will not comply to his demands.

Sometimes a fantasy-

Sometimes the dream is more valuable than the truth. For right now.

Bruce kisses Dick.

For right now, it’s more than enough.

-

When Wally arrives, Dick is sitting on his apartment floor, taping a box together.

“So, you’re finally leaving,” is his way of saying hello.

“Hey,” Dick’s grinning up at him, a spark in his eyes.

“How’s it going,” Wally smiles back, hands in his jacket’s pockets. “What do you need me to do?”

“Those,” Dick points to a stack of boxes in the corner of the room.

“Ah…” Wally looks at them, “Where am I taking them?”

“My car,” Dick trails off, “If they’ll fit.”

Wally shrugs at him, “I managed to fit them all, except one.”

Dick’s eyes grow wide. He glances at the corner of the room, and sees the offending box, crudely labeled _Kitchen_. He laughs; it’s easy to forget how fast Wally is. Somehow it never stopped being funny.

Dick shakes his head, and rises to his feet. “Would you mind carrying that one in your lap or something?”

“Sure,” Wally rolls his eyes. “Or I could just run it over to the manor, you know.”

“No, no,” Dick is grinning at him, “Wouldn’t want Bruce to know that you… you know. Know where it is.”

“Oops,” Wally smirks.

Dick is rising to his feet, as he scratches his head with some nervous energy. The apartment is empty and feels vast; he’s not sure he likes it. It feels strange. Unfamiliar for the first time in a great while, like a sensation he hadn’t felt since the day he moved in.

But now. Now he’s going home…

He’s going to Gotham.

“So you’re finally doing this,” Wally remarks calmly.

“Yeah,” Dick says, with a faint smile. “We’re gonna start a family.”

“Wow,” Wally responds. There’s some tension, but he’s not being cruel. He’s hesitant, but he’s not disapproving. Dick appreciates that. But his next question, is… It’s tough. “You’re thinking to start trying for a… you know what?” Wally smirks at him.

Dick gives a small shrug, “I wanted to, but…” another shrug, mainly to get rid of the nervous energy, “I can’t. My parts don’t work.”

Wally’s eyes widen for a moment. When he speaks, there’s a melancholy in his voice. “I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s not a big deal,” another shrug, and Dick’s hoping it doesn’t look as false as it feels. “I’ve had a few days to think about it, so… I’m okay.”

“A few days,” Wally frowns, crossing his arms. “That’s like… 3 seconds.”

Dick laughs a little. It feels good. He insists, “I’m okay,” even if he doesn’t completely mean it. In time, he will be. “Honestly.”

Wally shrugs, “Alright…”

Dick’s sighing, but for a different reason. He idly stretches, ignoring Wally’s concerned look. “Man,” he groans, “I think I pushed myself too hard today.”

“What?” Wally’s idly biting his lip, “All you did was pack boxes…”

“Hey, that’s a lot of work,” Dick pouts at him. “I haven’t done anything this physical in a while… Not this kind of… heavy lifting,” as he takes a long glance around his empty apartment. It’s still so surreal. He’s having difficulty adjusting. Not that he’ll need to, for much longer.

Because he’s going home, to the man he loves. And they’ll adopt a child, and-

He’ll be happy. He can finally be happy again. He can be whole.

Wally’s still not buying his reasoning. “I don’t know, you’re a pretty strong guy.” He even grins at him, “I think you’re stronger than me.”

“I know I am,” Dick teases.

“Hey,” Wally whines back. “At least I can move a lot faster.”

“Yeah, well…” because there’s no fighting that one. And _ouch_ , he feels a sudden cramp in his body, like he pulled something and didn’t realize how or when. His face shows the sudden pain, and Wally’s frowning at him again. And there it is, the wave of general unpleasantness. Unpleasant, suddenly awful for no reason. He shakes his head, but it doesn’t help. It makes the floor spin and shift. “Maybe I’m just coming down with something.”

Wally’s about to speak, when Dick suddenly chokes. Wally’s eyes widen, but they both know what’s about to happen when Dick does it again, choking on air and shaking, almost like-

Dick’s giving him a startled look, as he realizes what’s about to happen. “Shit,” he curses under his breath, rushing towards the bathroom. Wally’s calling after him, “Do you need to me to run you to…” but Dick’s already there by the time he finishes that statement. Wally forgets how long, how slow it is to speak at a normal rate. He forgets that he can’t use his normal speed to communicate.

He finds that odd, and he’s struck with the sudden need to comment about it. But Dick, of course, is not there. Dick, at the moment, is vomiting some several feet away. Wally can see his silhouette through the bathroom’s doorway, but he tries to do the considerate thing and not intrude. He does the respectful thing, and masks his concern. He’ll wait. He can wait to ask.

So he fidgets and roams about, taking a leisurely stroll through the room as he hears Dick nearly cough a lung in there. “The hell,” he murmurs to himself, and starts to listen in. But there’s silence now, apart from running water in the sink. Silence that’s unsettling. Because Dick; Dick being genuinely quiet, is often a cause for concern. Dick hates to be silent. Especially when he’s not feeling well.

Wally remembers that; the last time Dick was sick, with a cold or whatever it was, he kept him up all night. He insisted that someone be there to take care of him—damn that Bruce for being on patrol—and Wally, being the good friend he was, signed himself up. He hadn’t banked on the hours of Dick complaining, whining, fussing, and scoring free relationship advice. Ironically, Wally’s advice at the time had been to leave Bruce. Dick was so certain he would, too. He was feeling confident about it. Confident and certain.

Until the next week, when he’d come in with low shoulders, and some shame and said he wasn’t breaking it off; that he probably never would.

The change of heart was surprising, but not unusual. Dick’s profound attachment to Bruce was no secret. And when Dick confessed that they were a _thing_ now, a genuine item, Wally’s only thought was to smack him for not realizing it earlier. How could he not have realized how attached they both were, how connected, how…

Dick had always been in love with Bruce. Wally had noticed that long ago. It’d upset him then, but he moved on. He learned to accept and forgive and let go. And when Dick said he wanted to move to Gotham to live with him, and that they’d start a family one day, Wally felt he was probably the only person Dick could safely tell. Because Dick knew that Wally wouldn’t hit the roof. Dick knew that Wally’s only comment of concern would be to make sure Bruce stayed in line, and to tell him if he ever behaved like an asshole. Wally wasn’t one to judge. Wally was never one to force him out of doing anything. He wouldn’t condemn him. Wouldn’t tell him he can’t.

When Dick comes out of the bathroom, his face is blank. His eyes seem lost. Wally finally lets his face show his concern, and he even asks, “Are you okay?”

Dick is seeming unfocused, but he speaks with a surprisingly clarity. “I’ve been sick for a few days,” he says.

“Geez,” Wally says quietly.

“It comes and goes,” Dick says. “I’m feeling like shit. Literally.”

Wally smirks at him. “Dude, why are you doing all this work…”

“I feel horrible,” Dick says. “On and off, out of nowhere. One minute I’m fine and then next… bam. Shit again.”

“Geez.”

Dick stares at him, as he leans forward with a sense of urgency. “Wally,” his tone low and serious. “I need you do to me a favor.”

“Is it a big favor,” Wally raises an eyebrow at him.

“ _Please_.”

-

“Ugh,” Wally is whining, as he reaches into a bag, pulling out the small box. “You owe me one. I went in there, and the minute I fetched this, people gave me all these funny looks.”

“Right,” Dick’s not really listening. He takes the box from him, the moment Wally offers it.

“Someone was like, _Oh, is that for your girlfriend_ , and I told them, _I’m married_ , and they were like, _Oh how wonderful, good luck_ , and I’m like, thinking, that’s nice of them and all, but what if we didn’t even want to have another kid right now? I mean, that’s kind of rude, to just put that out there, assuming you were wanting to expand your family, if you’re not. I mean, what if we already had like, five kids and we didn’t need another, and it’d just be a source of stress-”

Wally pauses.

“ _And_ you’re not even listening to me, are you.”

Dick looks up, from reading the box. “Be back in a few minutes.”

“Right now?” Wally asks with some skepticism.

But Dick’s already gone.

“Okay,” Wally shrugs. “I’ll just… wait here.”

Wally takes a seat on the couch. Fidgets immediately, because he hates waiting for anyone. Hates the principle of waiting. Considers taking off to fetch food, but what if he takes too long—I mean, he could reach New York if he took off about now, just in time for the dinner rush—and then Dick comes out and looks for him, especially if he has big news-

Big news. But didn’t Dick just say… Parts don’t work. That was it. So what is he…

Wally frowns to himself. Despite knowing as much he does, he’s always feeling out of the loop. Even as fast he is, he’s too far behind to ever be at the forefront of Dick’s life. But maybe that’s why he and Dick get along so well. They understand each other. They’re both always running at full speed.

Minutes that feel like hours. Wally is drifting off to sleep, eyes closing when he hears the bathroom door open.

“Oh. You’re still here,” Dick says. Calmly. Too calmly.

“Yeah,” Wally grins at him, “I said I’d wait, didn’t I?”

“Oh, you did,” but it’s more of a question than a statement. Dick is… He seems lost. Almost like…

“Hey, how’d it go?” Wally’s asking.

“It’s okay,” Dick shrugs. “Nothing bad.” He nods to himself, “I guess we’d better uh… get moving with that stuff,” gesturing to the car outside.

“Yeah,” as he watches Dick pass by, cold and stoic. He looks like the life’s drained out of him. Darkness sinking in. A familiar darkness.

So he can’t let that go. Being the friend he is, Wally cannot let that go.

He puts a hand on Dick’s shoulder, “Hey.”

When Dick looks at him, his face is full of emotion. His eyes are shining and he’s… Is he shaking-

“What’s wrong,” Wally gives his shoulder a squeeze. “You know you can tell me, right?”

Dick nods.

Silence. God, but that silence is troubling. Wally hates silence. Hates it especially when it’s Dick being this quiet. This is not a good sign. It’s not-

“I’m pregnant,” he says.

“…What.”

Dick nods. “I’m…” he has to look away. He’s shaking again, trembling this time. Trembling beneath Wally’s hand, shaking as he closes his eyes; tears spill out, and he quickly wipes at them.

“Holy crap,” Wally says.

“Yeah,” Dick laughs quietly. Laughs through the tears, because they don’t hurt. They’re not in the way. He starts to smile in spite of himself, shaking and sobbing in silence.

Wally’s watching him break down. He’s watching him fall apart. Scariest goddamn thing he’s ever seen. “Are you… If you need me to-”

“Hug,” Dick says, opening his arms.

“Okay,” but Dick’s already squeezing him, by the time he says it. He embraces him back, the kind of warm and comforting embrace that only Wally West can give. And it’s around now that Wally starts to notice how happy he is, how elated, a smile that has yet to leave his lips and a glowing face. Shiny as it is, tear-streaked as it is, when he sobs he sighs and when he sighs he almost laughs. It’s around now that Wally realizes he’s not upset at all; he’s _giddy_.

“Do you need me to run you to the batcave,” Wally murmurs.

“ _Wally_ ,” Dick does laugh at that one, face buried against his shoulder. “You’re not even supposed to know how to get in there.”

“Oh. Right,” he grins.

In the following silence, he pulls him closer. Feels his body trembling, wondering how he never knew any of this. How he never knew how badly Dick wanted this, how he never knew it would strike this chord within him, how he’d always heard him mention children and hadn’t realized… What had he been battling, all this time. Where did all of this come from. And how long had he been thinking this couldn’t even happen… What must that have felt like… How could he, as his closest friend, have not seen any of this before?

It was stunning. Dick always found a way to surprise him. To make him question what he knows about him.

Dick finally leans away, and says, wiping at his face one more time as he calms down, “Give me a.. few minutes.”

“Sure,” Wally releases him.

Dick nods at him, that smile still lingering on his face, a few lingering sniffles as he pulls out his phone. Wally knows who he’s calling. At least he’s going to tell him somehow. He’s not one to get too sentimental, but this… This sort of moment, it’s… It’s important.

When Dick speaks into the phone, “Hey, it’s me,” he almost laughs immediately after. “I know,” he says. He starts to sway, idle energy diverting itself through his feet as he listens to what must be Bruce being his usual concerned, paranoid self.

Dick finally tells him, “I’m fine. I just need to tell you something.”

Dick waits. Listens a little more. Pauses, as if to think it over. “I…”

But that doesn’t feel right. Can’t say it that way.

“We did it,” he says.

He’s smiling and he’s blushing and he’s swaying gently on his feet; his energy fills the room. His happiness fills the room. Wally had never noticed how ethereal, how pleasant Dick was before. Never saw this light in him, not for such a long time. Not for years, now.

Never noticed how illuminated Dick could be.

“We finally did it.”


End file.
